Blessing In Disguise
by luckyricochet
Summary: Modern AU. Most ballerinas are bound to get an injury one day, and Musichetta is no exception. A sprained ankle to her means losing dance time, a huge set back when she dancing with one of the most prestigious ballet companies in the world. But what Musichetta didn't realize was that she'd be so drawn to the doctor's young intern. Oneshot.


**A/N: Joly/Musichetta is my second favorite pairing from Les Mis, so here's my take on how they first met! In my modern headcanon, Musichetta is a ballet dancer with the Paris Opera Ballet and my FC for her is Astrid Berges-Frisbey. Joly is consistent with the movie version. **

**Disclaimer: I don't dance ballet, so I tried to stay vague as possible in describing the class. Same goes for the medical procedure and internships. ****I got all my information from the internet and watching videos for everything that I didn't already know, so if this is all horribly inaccurate, I'm sorry. **

* * *

Musichetta was in a hurry. She'd known staying up late would be a bad idea, and now she was late to her class.

Her cell phone rang suddenly. "H-Hello?" she said, while sitting down to slip her shoes on.

"Where are you?" Gabrielle said. "Madame Durand—"

"I know, I know!" Musichetta tied her shoes quickly and grabbed her bag. "Tell her I'm on my way. I'm leaving now." With that, she hung up and left the apartment.

A small layer of snow had fallen over the night, Musichetta realized with slight shock as she opened the main door of the building. _Slow down_, a voice said inside of her as she flew down the steps, which were now slick.

Too late: she had already begun to descend at the same speed a which she had ran down the stairs inside. In a second, her foot slipped—Musichetta grabbed out wildly for something to hold, finding her hand catch on the railing. It jerked her backward, and she turned rapidly to steady her hold with both hands, at the same time feeling a sharp pain in her ankle.

Steady at last, Musichetta let out her breath. She bent down and rubbed her ankle. The pain was already ebbing, to her relief. Nothing serious. Musichetta gave it a little pat and set off once more, more slowly this time—but still quickly.

It was another fifteen minutes until she reached her destination. The dressing room was empty when she entered; the others were probably stretching by now. Musichetta put her bag on a bench, changed, and knotted her long dark hair at the top of her head. Time for rehearsal.

But before she could rehearse, she'd have to explain her tardiness. Musichetta steeled her nerves and walked up to Mme. Durand. "Madame—"

Mme. Durand looked at Musichetta. "Where have you been, mademoiselle?" she demanded.

"I'm very sorry, Madame," Musichetta said. "It's a stupid reason. I went to bed late last night and overslept."

"Hmph," Mme. Durand sniffed. "See that you do not repeat it again."

"Yes, Madame."

"The girls are at the barre. Warm up and stretch before you join them."

Musichetta nodded obediently, cursing herself. Now she would be behind the rest of the girls. She hated having to play catch-up. But shirking on her stretches wasn't an option, Musichetta knew. She got to work.

By the time Mme. Durand announced they'd be switching to en pointe work, Musichetta was up to speed with the rest. She went with them, chattering, to change their shoes. On her seat, Musichetta inspected her ankle. She hadn't felt any pain while at the barre, which was good, but pointe work was bound to be tougher. Musichetta tied up the ribbons on her shoe and walked a lap around the room.

"All right, back out there!" Mme. Durand called, making her way into the room. "Goodness, how long does it take for you to change your shoes?" She rolled her eyes and gestured for the girls to follow her.

Musichetta bit her lip as he got into place and the piano began to play. She raised herself up. The footwork was easy enough to manage, nothing bad yet. Small steps to the side, and then to the other side, forward. Pirouette, once, twice, three times in a row; Musichetta could feel the mounting pressure on the third—

"Wha—Musichetta!" The music stopped.

Gabrielle, dancing next to her, stared. Musichetta had fallen over on her final turn, grabbing onto Gabrielle before she hit the ground. She blinked, and looked around. Everyone was staring, but Musichetta didn't have time to be embarrassed. She could feel heat from her ankle, and suddenly she was aching. She sat down in the middle of the studio at once, her fingers scrabbling to undo her shoes.

"What in the world is going on?" Mme. Durand pushed through the circle that had formed and spotted Musichetta on the ground. "Mademoiselle, do you have a problem?"

_Obviously_, Musichetta thought viciously. She was furious. She eased her foot out of the shoe and laid it flat on the ground. Her ankle was swollen, and it had started to bruise. Mme. Durand's face transformed. "You're hurt?" Her voice rose. "Why did you not inform me of this sooner?"

"It wasn't hurting then," Musichetta muttered. "I didn't even feel like anything."

"Well, it certainly is something!" Mme. Durand said. "You're going to have to take the day off."

Musichetta wanted to argue, but she knew it was useless. Besides, Mme. Durand was right anyway. If Musichetta strained herself anymore, she'd hurt herself worse.

"Help her up, someone," Mme. Durand was saying. "Take her to see Bernard. Mademoiselle—" She nodded at Gabrielle. "Come back here straight after, understand? No dawdling."

"Yes, Madame."

* * *

Musichetta sat on the little reclining seat in the doctor's room. It wasn't an actual medical facility, so to speak, just a cluster of rooms that the Opera-hired doctors worked when there were injuries. But it looked like a normal doctor's office.

She had already taken off her tights and let her hair down—it was pulling at her head. Gabrielle had already returned to the class, leaving Musichetta by herself. Someone had come in and taken her X-rays, now they were gone.

The door opened, and two people walked in. Bernard Musichetta was familiar with, but his company, who was a young man, she did not. He was holding a clipboard and file and wore a white coat like Bernard. Was he a student of some sort? Her certainly looked one.

"Bonjour, mademoiselle," Bernard said.

"Oh—bonjour, docteur," Musichetta said.

"This is Joly. He's doing an internship with me," Bernard supplied, guessing her curiosity. "Now—" Bernard sat down and took up her foot. "Why don't you tell me what happened."

"I was rushing this morning because I was late," Musichetta began. "The steps from my home were slippery from the snow, though, so I slipped going down them." Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Joly writing on his clipboard.

Bernard looked up at her. "And there was no pain from that initial fall?"

"Just for a moment," Musichetta said. "Then it was gone. There wasn't even a bruise, and I was walking fine. It wasn't until I performed a pirouette that it came back."

"Ah yes, that's to be expected," Bernard said. "With all your weight on a single foot that's already injured." He started to press his fingers on various parts along her lower leg all the way to her toes. "Tell me when it hurts."

"No…no…no…a little…yes…yes…not so much…yes."

"And now we'll check your other side, just to be sure." Bernard let her first foot dangle.

"No…no…no…no…no…no…no…no."

"All right, just seems to be your right ankle," Bernard determined. "Let's take a look at the pictures." Joly handed Musichetta's X-rays to him, and Bernard held them up to the light, squinting. He lowered them and sighed. "Seems to be a sprain," he concluded.

Musichetta's heart dropped. "Bad?"

"Not horrible," Bernard assured her. "Just a light one. You'll still be able to dance once you heal."

Musichetta let out her breath. "Thank God."

"Yes, indeed," Bernard agreed. "Now, for your recovery. I'm going to have you do stick with RICE for now—I'm sure you are aware of that." Musichetta nodded.

"Good. Twenty minutes of ice per hour, for two days," Bernard continued. "Elevation, have your ankle above your heart whenever you're lying down, if possible. Put some books under the foot of your mattress at night and stand up slowly in the mornings. Just take it easy for the next few days."

"Yes, docteur," Musichetta said.

"Well—" Bernard stood up. "We'll get you into a brace for now—just so that you have a bit more stability. There's no fracture, so you're safe to put a little weight on your foot. I'll get in contact with you as to when I'll want to check up on you again. I've got to go fill out a report for your teacher so she knows what happened to you. Joly will take care of the rest. Don't worry," Bernard added. "He knows what he's doing." With that, he left the room.

Joly had retrieved some pre-wrap and bandaging in the short time. "Can you come and sit over here?" He was indicating a seat that had a small desk in front of it with a cushion on it. Musichetta gave it a doubtful glance.

"No disrespect, monsieur, but I'd rather stay here."

He seemed to know what she was afraid of and held out his hand. "I'll help you."

Another moment went by. Musichetta inched forward and stretched her good foot down as far as it would, but she couldn't reach the floor due to her short stature, and she wasn't about to jump.

"Ah—monsieur, I can't—"

Joly understood, and for the first time, Musichetta saw through his professional attitude. He hadn't realized that he would need to such a thing when he asked her to move. "Assuming I have permission?" Joly asked.

_What a gentleman, _Musichetta thought, and she smiled at him. "Yes."

Joly put down his things and moved closer. He took hold of her by the waist and slowly lowered her down so she could stand. A brief spark of excitement flashed through her, to Musichetta's confusion. It wasn't as if the touch was foreign; the boys she partner danced with held her in the same fashion all the time.

Musichetta picked her bad ankle off the ground and hopped over to the chair, gripping Joly's hand for balance. Once settled, Joly brought her lame foot on top of the desk. It was the perfect height for taping an ankle, level with Joly's hands.

Without a word, he began to wind the pre-wrap around her foot, swathing it up past her ankle until it was a little on her calf. He cut the end off and secured it, moving to apply the proper bandage now.

"Just relax," he said suddenly, scaring Musichetta slightly. "Your foot is tense."

"Oh—sorry." Musichetta loosened herself.

Joly shrugged. He looked up at her briefly as he went round her foot. "Have you ever sprained your ankle?"

Musichetta shook her head. "Never. I'm usually pretty careful about my body."

Joly said nothing, but continued to wrap her ankle. He was very gentle, Musichetta felt. He worked slowly, so there wasn't any unnecessary jostling of her foot or ankle. His hands were light on her ankle as well. It hardly seemed as though he was doing anything at all.

"There," Joly said at last. "Finished with the compression, so I'll get you a brace, and then you'll be able to go home and rest for the day."

It was to Musichetta's disappointment that Joly procured the proper sized brace for her soon after; she'd very much enjoyed talking to him. He fitted it onto her ankle easily. "Feel good?" Joly questioned.

"Fine." Musichetta stood up; her ankle did definitely feel better. "I suppose I'm all right to leave?"

"Ah, yes," Joly said, after a hesitation. "I just need to give you this." He handed Musichetta a piece of paper. "These are some small mobilization exercises you can do to slowly rehabilitate, but don't start on these until some primary healing as taken place just through RICE. Three days from now should be good."

Musichetta was then gripped with boldness. "Who am I to call if I have a question during this time? If I'm not sure of something?"

Joly frowned. "You can always call Docteur Bernard. He has the answers to everything."

"I'm sure he's very busy, though," Musichetta persisted. How strange. She was never this forward. "He won't always have time for me."

"I suppose you could call myself," Joly said. "I'm just an intern, though," he reminded Musichetta quickly. "You might not want to trust me with all your medical concerns."

Musichetta smiled coyly at him. "I've been trusting you all this time, haven't I? I'd say you are a very trustworthy man."

Joly looked blank. "If…you insist," he said slowly. From the breast pocket of his coat, he took a pen and wrote his number on her hand.

Musichetta looked down at it. "What is your first name, monsieur?"

Joly stared at her. "Valère. And yours? Docteur Bernard did not tell me who we would be seeing."

"Musichetta. Musichetta Baudelaire."

"Well. It's been a pleasure," Joly said. "Perhaps I will be hearing from you soon."

Musichetta suppressed a giggle. He had been reluctant to reveal his phone number just a minute before, but now he had just inadvertently shown that he was feeling the opposite. "Yes, perhaps. Merci beaucoup, monsieur."

* * *

**A/N: Hope you liked it! Please review :)**


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